


The chance not to be missed

by Liena67



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adlock, F/M, First Time, Love, Passion, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 09:32:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liena67/pseuds/Liena67
Summary: A possible meeting of Irene and Sherlock occurred between the second and third episode of the fourth season.Because Sherlock cannot make the words of his best friend fall into the void.Post The lying detective.





	The chance not to be missed

Sherlock observes his teacup sitting in the kitchen. He has been watching it for at least a quarter of an hour and the hot drink now starts to become lukewarm. Sometimes absent-mindedly, he turns around with a spoon, which he then places on the saucer, but the cup remains there without hinting that he wants to drink. The look is lost, even if the effects of the drugs that had in body now vanished. Weeks have passed, he does not know how many, but his appearance is back to being the same as always.

John and Molly alternate during the day to come and check him out, but they don’t stay no more all the time with him. At this time of night also Mrs. Hudson sleeps. He instead cannot sleep. These are days that he reflects on the words of John. The blows continually in his head are confused with the voice of Mary, as if both said the same thing "do something while there’s still a chance, because that chance doesn’t last forever. Trust me, Sherlock. It’s gone before you know it". The same words with Mary's voice, that Mary who sacrificed her life to save him, weighed him the most. As if now he could no longer throw his life or lose something that could give it greater value, a greater sense. Her death has changed everything and this cannot be wasted.

He looks at the time, it's past eleven. He gets up from the table and picks up the phone from the desk in the living room. He selects the number of Irene and stay still to fix it. The heart starts beating faster.  
"It's a very bad idea, I know it's a very bad idea, damn you," he murmurs to himself and to that name on the phone. There is another ten minutes to fix it deciding what to do, then on impulse he presses the call button and closed his eyes, swallowing, brings the phone to his ear.

He hears it ring after a few moments and in those moments he had almost hoped it was off. But he knew it was not, he was almost certain that at this time she was still awake or at least the phone was on. The rings are followed, his heart beats faster and stronger, he begins to think that she does not want to answer him and the disappointment now, the fear, are added to the emotions that is already trying and that struggle to manage.

The phone eventually stops ringing, the communication is open and neither speaks. Only the breaths of both can be heard.  
"Can’t you sleep Sherlock?" Irene's voice on the other side of the phone is warm, soft, sensual and catchy, sure of herself as she always was and how he remembered it.  
"Not even you, apparently, from the voice I would say that you were not sleeping" he replies, regaining control of himself, or at least trying.  
"I'm a night owl, you know, bad girls never go to bed early," she whispers to him.

Sherlock smiles at her words and seems to see her talking. He approaches the sofa and lies there sighing.  
"In what side of the world are you now?" He asks, placing a hand on his belly above his shirt.  
"If I tell you, do you take a plane and reach me?" She asks "you know, here I have a really big and comfortable bed, you could sleep well... even if I do not know if I would let you sleep a lot" she adds in a voice even more seductive and mischievous, a whisper that enters him and makes him shiver.

He sighs and the hand on his chest lifts his shirt and starts caressing himself distractedly, making him change his breathing slightly.  
"You do not answer and do not close the phone... I dare say that we make progress" Irene continues in the same tone "What are you doing Sherlock?" she then asked, having noticed the change in his breathing.  
"Nothing, I'm listening to you," he replies, but feeling his erection begin.  
"Do not lie to me Sherlock, I can recognize an excited breath" Irene's voice is warm but firm. It excites him even more and smiles.  
"You should know the effect your voice makes on a man," he replies, and his hand cannot help but go further down his erection that becomes more consistent.  
"You are not like all men," she whispers without changing her tone of voice, but now her breath changes too.  
"And you do not talk like that to all men," he replies with a sigh.

Irene no longer answers but her most insistent breath is felt. The minutes pass and neither speaks, only they listen to the other's breathing and this excites even more Sherlock.  
"Now enough, go and take a cold shower Sherlock" Irene says with a hoarse voice "stopped, I want you to wait for the right time" she says with a tone more decisive "will be even more beautiful, then".

Sherlock swallows but stops. He understands what she means and knows how much she loves to play the game. And he likes this, he really likes it. He sighs strongly, pushing his hand away from his erection and tries to regain control.  
"Lately of cold showers I have to do a lot," he says with a slight ironic tone.

"You're not the only one," she replies in the same tone "Goodnight Sherlock," she adds.  
"Goodnight Irene" and when he hears the conversation close, he remains still for a few moments with the phone in his ear. Finally, he puts it on the ground and smiles. It's a different smile, he feels it, a smile full of expectations, exciting and pleasant expectations. Finally, he turns off the light in the living room and goes to the bathroom. A cold shower is definitely necessary.  
  
It's been about a week since that phone call. They no longer heard or sent messages. There was no need, this is part of the game and they both know it. Irene left Vienna, where she was when he called and now she is back in London. That night when she heard the phone ring and saw that the call came from him, she remained motionless to fix that name on the display for a long time. The heart at that moment seemed almost to have stopped and then started running. It took several rings before she regained control. She did not expect it, she did not believe it would happen, now she thought it would not happen again, even if she had not given up yet. The desire for that man could not suppress and no one could make her pass, neither men nor women. Nobody and no one was at his height in her eyes.

She knows it's a mistake, a bad idea, but she desires him too much and could not resist the temptation to answer at that moment, as if she were now in London. She is not immediately rushed by him, this would never have done it, it is not in her nature. She is the one who dominates, the one who leads the game and who decides how and when and who. And tonight, is the right time.

The night is now over, the streets are dark and deserted, only a few rare cars pass along Baker Street. Before 221B she stops, closed in her long dark coat. It is not the first time that she enters his house in secret, but this time she does not use the stairs on the back and the window. This time she pulls out a pair of keys from his coat pocket, which one of her contacts has had, and opens the front door quietly. She closes it slowly and once inside in silence, despite the high heels, she goes up the stairs. Slowly, always quietly, she opens the door to Sherlock's apartment and closes it behind her.

It's all dark, but the light from the exterior lamps allows her to see a minimum. With the silent step of a panther, she walks down the corridor to the bedroom. The door is open and slowly she enters in the room. Sherlock sleeps on his back, wears a t-shirt and pajama pants and the blankets cover him up to his chest. One arm folded over the head and the other along the body.

Irene looks at him and wants to get a hand through those black curls. She wanted it since she saw him the first time. But she does not move, she keeps looking at him for a long time. She likes to watch him sleep, she seems to have more control, because she knows that when he opens his eyes and fixes them in hers, it will be over for her. And those eyes finally open, as if he had heard her thoughts.

Sherlock blinks his eyes several times. No noise but her scent woke him up. That scent that mixes with that of her skin is unmistakable for him and entered his dream making him wake up. He sees her standing there near him, the outside light just lights it up, but her dark blue eyes seem to shine and that smile, that now appears on her face, pierces him and makes him vibrate instantly. He says nothing, neither of them needs to say anything.

After a few minutes, Irene unbuttons her coat and drops it on the floor. Slowly, without ever leaving his gaze, she unbuttons the dress that slides over her body, slowly discovering her firm breasts and nipples already turgid.

Sherlock's eyes are now unhooked by her. He had not done it the first time they'd seen each other, when she showed up naked, but now he does not have to prove anything and wants to look at her. His erection is almost immediate and the lips parted, because the breath already increases. But he does not move, let her lead the game and keeps looking at her while Irene's dress falls completely, showing her body totally naked.

Her breath is heavier and her lips parted too. Sherlock still looks at her for a few moments then pulls away the sheets as if to invite her to join him. Irene bites her lip, seeing his consistent erection. Knowing to excite him so, excites even more her. Slowly she approaches the bed and with one hand loosens the hair she kept gathered. She takes off her shoes and without saying anything climbs on the bed, settles on him astride, but without touching him. Her arms are at the side of his head.

"Stand still, do nothing" she whispers to see that he was about to move his hands with the obvious desire to touch her, to embrace her. She sees him gasp but nod. She looks him in the eyes, those light eyes now shiny, misty, in which she feels like drowning. Her right hand takes a curl and wraps it around her finger. She bites her lips to restrain herself, but she wants to enjoy this moment as long as possible. Then the hand goes down and with a nail she traces a line along his chest and Sherlock escapes a moan and a shiver runs through him.

She smiles, loves to see him react this way. She takes the edge of his shirt and lifts it up to take it off completely. With her fingernails, she caresses him lightly teasing his nipples, squeezing them, scratching them and she is now unable to hold back a groan that joins his.

Sherlock spasmodically shakes hands on the sheets to resist the temptation to touch her. His erection is so strong now that it almost hurts him. He looks at those lips so close to his and he feels her breath on his mouth.

"Please, Irene, please, I'm going crazy," he whispers almost breathlessly.  
Her smile increases as well as her labored breathing. Her right hand creeps between his curls, while the left with one movement lowers his pajama trousers, discovering his erection. Their lips brush, her breasts brush against his chest. The left hand with sweet confidence takes his erection and directs it towards her.

"Now Sherlock, take me, make me yours" she whispers before kissing him slowly and with one movement she descends on him until she feels him sink into her and fill her completely. The moans of both are strong and in unison, a moan that is almost a scream of surprise and pleasure.

Sherlock leaves the sheets that he holds and with his hands clenches her buttocks pushing her on him as the kiss becomes more and more passionate and languid and her body movements increase and are always faster. She rides him with enthusiasm, with passion, excited as she never thought she could ever be.

Sherlock's right hand moves to squeeze a breast, feeling under his palm the turgid nipple that vibrates and causes him more excitement. The mind is more and more blurred and finally he loses control. With a burst of kidneys, he reverses the position and now finds himself on her with her legs that imprison him arching under him. Her moans are such that they are driving him crazy, they enter his brain and cause him continuous chills. Her nails are planted on his back and on his buttocks and this makes him madder even more. He moves spasmodically, sinking in her with such ardor that the bed squeaks as never before. He hears Irene contract as her moans increase. He watches her as she reaches orgasm and does not know what is more beautiful, if the expression of pleasure on her face, her uncontrollable moans, the contractions of her body that tighten around his erection now at most.

He can no longer resist even him and after a while he explodes feeling like a thread that starts from the brain and goes down the whole back to make him scream pushing into her as if he wanted to drown. He then stands still after the last push, the arched back, a hand tight around her hips and the other around her face. And then he collapses, breathless, with the body that seems to suddenly abandon him, while hiding the face in her neck and the arms pass under her body to tighten still strong to himself.

Both exhausted, almost unable to breathe, they remain tight for a long time, the hidden faces, the lips that touch the neck of the other. They do not say anything, they only listen to the other's breathing, until they fall asleep like that, still tied together as if in a single body.  
  
When the light of dawn enters the room, Sherlock wakes up. He blinks his eyes several times, turns into the bed and sees it empty. She's not there, her clothes are not there, she's gone. Maybe, who knows, it was just a dream, a beautiful dream, he thinks.


End file.
